Malady
by Cassandra Hunter
Summary: Sam is ill. Dean takes care of him.


**Title:** Malady

**Author:** Cassandra Hunter

**Category:** Supernatural

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Supernatural. All I own is the plot to this story. Do not sue.

**Plot:** Sam is ill. Dean takes care of him.

**Notes:** This is my first Supernatural fanfiction, so please be kind. I usually don't write in a fandom until the series is at least seventy-five percent complete in the first season. But I just got inspired and had to write. And I tried to keep them as in character as possible, but I don't think it's all that great. Thanks to all. And don't forget to review.

-

Dean leaned over to grab his bag from the other end of the bed when the bathroom caught his eye. The bathroom door hung open, and he glanced in as he leaned... Then stopped cold and turned to look at what had caught his eye.

"Sammy?"

Sam sat on the floor in front of the toilet, knees drawn to his chest, shivering and damp with perspiration. He gave no response, and he was pale as the tile floor he lay on.

"Crap." Dean hurried inside and dropped next to the young man, placing a palm on Sam's forehead.

Not good! Sam was hot. Very hot.

"Sam?" Dean grabbed the young man's shoulder and shook. "Come on, give me something here."

Sam moaned and his eyelids fluttered open. He turned his head and blinked up at Dean, recognition dawned in his expression.

"Sam? You with me?"

"Dean?" He croaked. Sam blinked a few more times, the jerked forward, his arms clutching his stomach, and spasmed as he gave into several dry heaves. Tears escaped from beneath his clenched eyelids and he broke out into a renewed sweat, making the sweat-pants and tee-shirt he was wearing stick to his body.

"I'm gonna lift you up." Dean dropped to one knee, slid an arm around Sam's waist and threw Sam's arm over his shoulder, and with a grunt and a lot of straining, managed to heave Sam up. "Geez, Sammy, what have you been eating?" He muttered between clenched teeth.

Sam moaned, stirring and threatening to send them both crashing to the floor.

"Quit moving, Sammy."

Sam's struggles ceased as he seemed to recognize the voice.

"Alright then." Dean placed Sam gently on the bed as he possibly could. He covered Sam up and quickly dug for the medical bag. "Oh, please tell me I didn't toss that thermometer away." With a sigh of relief he pulled the ancient instrument from the bottom of the bag. He placed it in his brother's mouth and tried to keep as still as possible so not to jar the bed anymore than necessary. The thermometer beeped and Dean pulled it back.

103.7.

It wasn't as bad as it possibly could be. He'd seen his brother have worse. Hopefully, it was nothing that some aspirin and a lot of sleep couldn't cure.

-

Sam was hot. Something soft surrounded him, trapping the heat and stifling him. He shifted, his arms flailing, and pushed the offending item off.

He was laying on something soft. Rolling to his side, he brought his legs up and tried to find a comfortable position. Now he was cold and shivering.

A warm hand pressed against his forehead. He leaned his head into the gentle touch.

"It moves."

Dean? Sam opened his eyes and Dean's slightly blurry face swam into view.

His brother smiled. He leaned to the side momentarily, then brought up the blanket and draped it over Sam. "How are you feeling?"

"Thirsty." He tried to swallow, but his saliva felt like paste. "What happened?"

"I found you on the bathroom floor, sick."

Dean disappeared from Sam's view, then returned a few moments later with a cup in his hand. "Here's some water."

Sam tried to sit up and became aware of just how weak and tired he felt.

Dean slid his arm behind Sam's back and helped him sit up, taking several blankets and propping them against the headboard to support Sam.

"Here." Dean placed the cup in Sam's hand. "Small sips."

"Thanks." He took a couple of sips of the cold water, looked over the rim of the cup at his brother, then drained the remaining liquid in three big gulps.

"I said small sips, Sammy." Dean took the empty cup from Sam.

Sam opened his mouth to give a reply, but his chest was seized by a coughing fit that brought tears to his eyes. After several seconds fo trying to get air into his lungs, dots of light danced in his vision and, before he realized what was happening, the water came back up and landed on the blanket Dean had draped over him.

"Sorry." He gasped, wiping the tears from his cheeks as the coughs died.

"Don't worry about it." Dean said gently, peeling the blanket away from Sam and rolling it into a ball. "I'll get you another blanket... and more water." He wagged a finger at the sick man. "This time... small sips."

"Kay." Sam closed his eyes and leaned back against the pillows.

He hated being sick. The fatigue. The coughing. The vomiting... especially the vomiting. And throwing up all over himself, with only a blanket for salvation, hadn't been his most dignified moment.

A few moments later, he felt a soft weight descend upon him, and he opened his eyes to see Dean tucking a fresh blanket around him. Yes, Dean was actually tucking the blanket around him. He eyes stung with warmth and he blinked quickly. It used to be like this, Sam realized, when he was sick when he was smaller. His dad was never home to take care of him so Dean always did.

Sam gave his big brother a smile. "Thanks, Dean."

"Just get better Sammy." Dean replied.

-

Dean shot toward the door hoping to reach it before they locked the doors. The sign said that they were open until midnight and it's only eleven fifty-three. He still had seven more minutes to accomplish his mission.

He ignored the look of disgust the kid at the shopping cart area gave him. Dean immediately headed back to the deli section mentally crossing his fingers. What was it with this town anyway? Who hadn't heard of pistachio pudding?

Gawd, how could Sam manage to eat green pudding was beyond him. But hey, if it made Sam happy. It wasn't like Dean could have resisted his little brother's request two hours ago. He had been running over this town hunting for pistachio pudding in the middle of the night because Sam, who looked like crap and couldn't even stand the smell of anything that resembled food, looked at him all pitiful and asked for it.

Dean gave a slight grin as he immediately recognized the green glop that had always been his brother's one comfort food anytime he was sick. It was nice to know that at least some things hadn't changed.

Thank Goodness, they had it. He sized up the containers lining the deli counter and ordered a pound. That should be enough to keep Sam happy.

Dean tapped his foot impatiently and let his eyes roam. There was a magazine stand with all the untrue tabloids and ridiculous stories proclaiming things like 'alien baby found in Manhattan' and 'Oprah's latest weight gain.' Like anyone actually cared about those types of things? He grabbed a soda from one of the small refrigerators beside the stand.

The woman behind the counter was taking forever. He picked out one of the least lurid magazines and idly flipped through it, balancing the drink in one hand and turning pages with the other. It was the normal teen magazine flippancy. He smirked at the pictures of the latest boy band and all the ridiculous facts like 'favorite color' and 'favorite food.'

How long could it possibly take to put a few big spoonfuls of green glop into a plastic container? Obviously it was going to take Sherrie, the deli woman, longer than it should because the phone rang and heaven forbid that she would actually finish waiting on Dean before answering.

"Yeah, yeah." Dean heard her say in a high girly girl voice. "Nah, I should be home in about twenty minutes. Oh yeah, I'm looking forward to it too." And she gave a low throaty laugh after that comment. "Hey, look, I've gotta go. Have a customer. Yeah, well, sometimes they come in at the last minute."

Sherrie handed him the container and he cruised to the front of the store to pay for Sam's comfort food. Dean gave the older woman who took his money a grin, filled with relief now that his mission was accomplished.

-

"No, Daryl." Sam wheezed into the cell phone. He was bundled up in bed, covers up to his chin, and discard kleenexes scattered around him. Sniffing, he turned his head and coughed before turning back to the phone. "I'll be fine. I just want to rest."

He listened patiently for a moment, looking up as he heard the front door completely open and then close. Despite Dean's words, he'd left it open, needing the fresh air. He made the appropriate sounds at the appropriate pauses in Daryl's 'take care of yourself' speech. Sam grinned as the man frowned at him.

"Daryl... really. I'll be fine, okay?" He paused. "I am eating." Another pause and Sam looked uncomfortable. "Um... oatmeal?" He winced and held the phone slightly away from his ear.

Dean could hear the yelling from phone on the other side of the room. Finally it quieted down.

"Okay, I'm sorry Daryl. You're right. I haven't eaten, but I will. My brother just brought something in. Really." Sam paused and then smiled. "I will Daryl. Yeah. Yeah, I will. Alright. Goodbye." The last word turned into a coughing fir as he flipped the phone closed.

Dean walked around to Sam's bed and sat down. "You look like something a cat threw up."

"I feel like something the cat threw up." He complained with a small smile.

"How you feeling, Sammy?" Dean asked, putting his hand on his brother's forehead.

"Tired." Sam rasped, closing his eyes and letting his head drop to rest against the headboard.

"How did you sleep?"

Sam gave a sharp little laugh, mouth curling up into an unpleasant smile for a moment as he rolled his head from side to side. "Sleeping too much. Not resting."

Dean stayed still for a moment, looking fondly down at his brother. He remembered all the times he would watch over his brother when he was sick. "So... what's this about living on coffee and chocolate?" Dean frowned and watched as his brother opened his eyes.

Sam had the good sense to look slightly ashamed of himself.

Dean sighed, realizing that he wouldn't get an answer from Sam. "Why don't you ever gain weight?" He made a move to pinch his waist.

Sam gave a little congested snort of laughter. "Dean, I don't think you've ever been concerned about your weight in your life." He shook his head.

"Well, I can pretend to have some insecure qualities, can't I?" He gave Sam a look of annoyance. "Hey, if you aren't nicer I won't give you your pudding."

Despite his swimming head, the magic words got through and he straightened up. "Pistachio pudding? You did bring me pistachio, didn't you?" He knew his brother would, but it was nice to have it confirmed.

Dean shrugged. "Maybe." He barely managed to duck the pillow that was chucked his way. "Geez! Of course I brought it. Pushy little brat, aren't you?"

"Little?" Sam blinked. "I'm taller than you."

"Height has nothing to do with it." Dean rolled his eyes.

"You know... coffee helps fight the flu." Sam suggested hopefully.

Dean made a rude sound. "I have yet to see decisive evidence of that theory." He paused. "Here." Dean held out a container.

Sam perked up slightly. "Pistachio pudding?"

"Pistachio pudding." Dean confirmed. "I even found the kind with pineapples and marshmallows in it."

In response, Sam held out his hands and motioned with his fingers. "Thank you." He muttered. The man nodded and went back to his purchases. "Coffee?" Sam called after him hopefully.

Dean shook his head. "Water." He said sternly. "But if you're good, I'll let you smell my cup." He grinned as his brother groaned and turned back to his pudding.

Sam gave a contented sound. "I have really missed." He muttered, taking a huge chunk out. "I haven't had any since I began at Stanford."

"How did you manage to survive being sick with out your pudding?" Dean took his coffee and settled down on his bed.

"I'd grab something from Joe's Diner. The food was inedible and one of the waiters was schizophrenic. I'd usually get a burger of some kind. The meat was gray and tasteless. It was fantastic." Sam sighed darkly as he nursed his bowl of pistachio pudding. Sam's eyes followed Dean's cup, who was taking long sips and sighing happily, evidently savoring the coffee and hamming it up for Sam's benefit. "Come on, just one little sip? I'll give it right back."

"And have you give me that death flu of yours? I think not." He gave a snort. "Why don't you get some sleep? You're still feverish."

"I don't want to sleep. I don't want to dream."

Dean moved until he was laying down and settled in to watch the T.V. "You need sleep."

Sam sighed and muttered something about big brother pushing him around, but sat aside his food and rearranged himself until he was curled up on his side with his head pillowed on his arm and had his arm wrapped around his waist.

Dean chuckled. "I can't believe you still like to sleep like that. You're not ten anymore."

"Comfy." He muttered, almost asleep.

"Sweet dreams, Sammy."


End file.
